HIDE   AND    SEEK 
CHRISTOPHER  MORLEY 


COPYRIGHT,   1920, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN   COMPANY 


PRINTED   IN  THE  UNITED   STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TO  H.  F.  M. 

A   SONNET  IN  SUNLIGHT 

FT1H1S  IS  a  day  far  sonnets:  Oh  how  clear 

-*        Our  splendid  cliffs  and  summits  lift  the  gaze — 

If  all  the  perfect  moments  of  the  year 

Were  poured  and  gathered  in  one  sudden  blaze, 
Then,  then  perhaps,  in  some  endowered  phrase 

My  flat,  strewn  words  would  rise  and  come  more  near 
To  tell  of  you.     Your  beauty  and  your  praise 

Would  fall  like  sunlight  on  this  paper  here. 

Then  I  would  build  a  sonnet  that  would  stand 
Proud  and  perennial  on  this  pale  bright  sky; 

So  tall,  so  steepf  that  it  might  stay  the  hand 
Of  Time,  the  dusty  wrecker.     He  would  sigh 

To  tear  my  strong  words  down.     And  he  would  say: 

"  That  song  he  built  for  her,  one  summer  day." 


458937 


These  verses  were  first  published  by  The  New  York 
Evening  Post,  The  Philadelphia  Evening  Public  Ledger, 
Life,  Collier's,  and  House  and  Garden.  The  author 
gratefully  acknowledges  their  permission  to  reprint. 

Roslyn,  Long  Island, 
July,  1920 


CONTENTS 


PART  ONE:    VERSES 

PAGB 

TAKING  TITLE 15 

To  AN  OLD-FASHIONED  POET 17 

BURNING  LEAVES  IN  SPRING 18 

THE  SAVAGE 19 

ST.  PAUL'S  AND  WOOLWORTH 21 

ADVICE  TO  A  CITY 22 

To  LOUISE 23 

THE  Music  Box 25 

A  WEDDED  VALENTINE 27 

MEDITATION  ON  SOME  BOOKSHELVES 28 

RAPID  TRANSIT 31 

THE  VICTORIAN  POET  IN  His  RONDOTAGE 32 

CAUGHT  IN  THE  UNDERTOW 33 

SUNDAY  NIGHT 34 

To  His  BROWN-EYED  MISTRESS 36 

PEACE 37 

MOUNTED  POLICE 39 

SONG,  IN  DEPRECATION  OF  PULCHRITUDE 40 

ON  A  WHITE  MUSLIN  DRESS 41 

A  VALENTINE 42 

In  Re  ALFRED  EMERY  CATHIE 43 

DAFFODILS 44 

IX — 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

To  His  MISTRESS,  DEPLORING  THAT  HE  Is  NOT  AN  ELIZA 
BETHAN  GALAXY 45 

THE  INTRUDER 47 

CONFESSIONS  IN  A  HASH  HOUSE 48 

TIT  FOR  TAT 50 

THE  TWINS 51 

NURSERY  RHYMES  FOR  THE  TENDER  HEARTED 52 

THE  SUPERMAN 56 

To  A  TELEPHONE  OPERATOR 57 

MY  OWN  SPRING  SONG 58 

THE  URBAN  POET 59 

MUSINGS  ON  A  COOL  RETREAT 61 

PART  TWO:    SONNETS 

QUICKENING 65 

AT  A  WINDOW  SILL 66 

THE  RIVER  OF  LIGHT 67 

IN  AN  AUCTION  ROOM 69 

EPITAPH  FOR  A  POET  WHO  WROTE  No  POETRY 70 

To  A  VAUDEVILLE  TERRIER 71 

To  A  BURLESQUE  SOUBRETTE 72 

SONNETS  OF  A  GEOMETER 73 

SONNETS  IN  TIME  OF  TRIAL 74 

To  AN  OLD  FRIEND 76 

THOUGHTS  WHILE  PACKING  A  TRUNK 77 

THE  TWO-MAN  SAW 78 

A  SONNET  ON  OYSTERS 79 

IN  PHILADELPHIA 80 

X 


CONTENTS 


To  MY  WIFE 82 

HOSTAGES 83 

PART  THREE:     fRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 

Translator's  Note 87 

No  SHO 89 

PU'R  FISH 101 

Po  LIL  CHILE 104 

SAI  WEN 106 

Catr  PEP-SIN 110 

O  B'oi .  117 


— XI — 


PART  ONE:    VERSES 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TAKING  TITLE 

TO  make  this  house  my  very  own 
Could  not  be  done  by  law  alone. 
Though  covenant  and  deed  convey 
Absolute  fee,  as  lawyers  say, 
There  are  domestic  rites  beside 
By  which  this  house  is  sanctified. 


By  kindled  fire  upon  the  hearth, 
By  planted  pansies  in  the  garth, 
By  food,  and  by  the  quiet  rest 
Of  those  brown  eyes  that  I  love  best, 
And  by  a  friend's  bright  gift  of  wine, 
I  dedicate  this  house  of  mine. 


When  all  but  I  are  soft  abed 
I  trail  about  my  quiet  stead 
A  wreath  of  blue  tobacco  smoke 
(A  charm  that  evil  never  broke) 
—15— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TAKING  TITLE— (continued) 

And  bring  my  ritual  to  an  end 
By  giving  shelter  to  a  friend. 

These  done,  O  dwelling,  you  become 
Not  just  a  house,  but  truly  Home! 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TO  AN  OLD-FASHIONED  POET 
(Lizette  Woodworth  Reese.) 

MOST  tender  poet,  when  the  gods  confer 
They  save  your  gracile  songs  a  nook  apart, 
And  bless  with  Time's  untainted  lavender 
The  ageless  April  of  your  singing  heart. 

You,  in  an  age  unbridled,  ne'er  declined 

The  appointed  patience  that  the  Muse  decrees, 

Until,  deep  in  the  flower  of  the  mind 

The  hovering  words  alight,  like  bridegroom  bees. 

By  casual  praise  or  casual  blame  unstirred 

The  placid  gods  grant  gifts  where  they  belong: 

To  you,  who  understand,  the  perfect  word, 
The  recompensed  necessities  of  song. 


—IT— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


BURNING  LEAVES  IN  SPRING 

WHEN  withered  leaves  are  lost  in  flame 
Their  eddying  ghosts,  a  thin  blue  haze. 
Blow  through  the  thickets  whence  they  came 
On  amberlucent  autumn  days. 

The  cool  green  woodland  heart  receives 
Their  dim,  dissolving,  phantom  breath; 

In  young  hereditary  leaves 

They  see  their  happy  life-in-death. 

My  minutes  perish  as  they  glow — 

Time  burns  my  crazy  bonfire  through; 

But  ghosts  of  blackened  hours  still  blow, 
Eternal  Beauty,  back  to  you  1 


—18— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  SAVAGE 

IVILIZATION  causes  me 
Alternate  fits:  disgust  and  glee. 

Buried  in  piles  of  glass  and  stone 
My  private  spirit  moves  alone, 

Where  every  day  from  eight  to  six 
I  keep  alive  by  hasty  tricks. 

But  I  am  simple  in  my  soul; 
My  mind  is  sullen  to  control. 

At  dusk  I  smell  the  scent  of  earth, 
And  I  am  dumb  —  too  glad  for  mirth. 

I  know  the  savors  night  can  give, 
And  then,  and  then,  I  live,  I  live  ! 


No  man  is  wholly  pure  and  free, 
For  that  is  not  his  destiny, 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  SAVAGE— (continued) 

But  though  I  bend,  I  will  not  break : 
And  still  be  savage,  for  Truth's  sake. 

God  damns  the  easily  convinced 
(Like  Pilate,  when  his  hands  he  rinsed), 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


ST.  PAUL'S  AND  WOOLWORTH 

1  STOOD  on  the  pavement 
Where  I  could  admire 
Behind  the  brown  chapel 
The  cream  and  gold  spire. 

Above,  gilded  Lightning 
Swam  high  on  his  ball — 

I  saw  the  noon  shadow 
The  church  of  St.  Paul. 

And  was  there  a  meaning? 

(My  fancy  would  run), 
Saint  Paul  in  the  shadow, 

Saint  Frank  in  the  sun ! 


—21— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


ADVICE  TO  A  CITY 

OCITY,  cage  your  poets !    Hem  them  in 
And  roof  them  over  from  the  April  sky — 
Clatter  them  round  with  babble,  ceaseless  din, 
And  drown  their  voices  with  your  thunder  cry. 

Forbid  their  free  feet  on  the  windy  hills, 
And  harness  them  to  daily  ruts  of  stone — 

(In  florists'  windows  lock  the  daffodils) 
And  never,  never  let  them  be  alone ! 

For  they  are  curst,  said  poets,  curst  and  lewd, 
And  freedom  gives  their  tongues  uncanny  wit, 

And  granted  silence,  thought  and  solitude 
They  (absit  omen!)  might  make  Song  of  it. 

So  cage  them  in,  and  stand  about  them  thick, 
And  keep  them  busy  with  their  daily  bread ; 

And  should  their  eyes  seem  strange,  ah,  then  be 

quick 
To  interrupt  them  ere  the  word  be  said.  .  .  . 

For,  if  their  hearts  burn  with  sufficient  rage, 
With  wasted  sunsets  and  frustrated  youth, 

Some  day  they'll  cry,  on  some  disturbing  page, 
The  savage,  sweet,  unpalatable  truth ! 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TO  LOUISE 

(A  Christmas  Baby,  Now  One  Year  Old.) 

T  TNDAUNTED  by  a  world  of  grief, 
V_  J    You  came  upon  perplexing  days, 
And  cynics  doubt  their  disbelief 
To  see  the  sky-stains  in  your  gaze. 


Your  sudden  and  inclusive  smile 

And  your  emphatic  tears,  admit 

That  you  must  find  this  life  worth  while, 

So  eagerly  you  clutch  at  it! 


Your  face  of  triumph  says,  brave  mite, 
That  life  is  full  of  love  and  luck — 
Of  blankets  to  kick  off  at  night, 
And  two  soft  rose-pink  thumbs  to  suck. 


O  loveliest  of  pioneers 
Upon  this  trail  of  long  surprise, 
May  all  the  stages  of  the  years 
Show  such  enchantment  in  your  eyes! 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TO  LOUISE— (continued) 

By  parents'  patient  buttonings, 
And  endless  safety  pins,  you'll  grow 
To  ribbons,  garters,  hooks  and  things, 
Up  to  the  Ultimate  Trousseau— 

But  never,  in  your  dainty  prime, 

Will  you  be  more  adored  by  me 

Than  when  you  see,  this  Great  First  Time, 

Lit  candles  on  a  Christmas  Tree! 

December,  1919. 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  MUSIC  BOX 

AT  SIX — long  ere  the  wintry  dawn — 
There  sounded  through  the  silent  hall 
To  where  I  lay,  with  blankets  drawn 
Above  my  ears,  a  plaintive  call. 

The  Urchin,  in  the  eagerness 

Of  three  years  old,  could  not  refrain ; 
Awake,  he  straightway  yearned  to  dress 

And  frolic  with  his  clockwork  train. 

I  heard  him  with  a  sullen  shock. 

His  sister,  by  her  usual  plan, 
Had  piped  us  aft  at  3  o'clock — 

I  vowed  to  quench  the  little  man. 

I  leaned  above  him,  somewhat  stern, 
And  spoke,  I  fear,  with  emphasis — 

Ah,  how  much  better,  parents  learn, 
To  seal  one's  censure  with  a  kiss ! 

Again  the  house  was  dark  and  still, 
Again  I  lay  in  slumber's  snare, 

When  down  the  hall  I  heard  a  trill, 
A  tiny,  tinkling,  tuneful  air — 

—25— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  MUSIC  BOX— (continued) 

His  music-box!     His  best-loved  toy, 
His  crib  companion  every  night; 

And  now  he  turned  to  it  for  joy 

While  waiting  for  the  lagging  light. 

How  clear,  and  how  absurdly  sad 

Those  tingling  pricks  of  sound  unrolled ; 

They  chirped  and  quavered,  as  the  lad 
His  lonely  little  heart  consoled. 

Columbia,  the  Ocean's  Gem — 

(Its  only  tune)  shrilled  sweet  and  faint. 
He  cranked  the  chimes,  admiring  them 

In  vigil  gay,  without  complaint. 

The  treble  music  piped  and  stirred, 
The  leaping  air  that  was  his  bliss ; 

And,  as  I  most  contritely  heard, 
I  thanked  the  all-unconscious  Swiss! 

The  needled  jets  of  melody 

Rang  slowlier  and  died  away — 

The  Urchin  slept ;  and  it  was  I 
Who  lay  and  waited  for  the  day. 


-26— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


A  WEDDED  VALENTINE 

DEAR,  may  I  be  your  Valentine? 
Not  just  to-day,  in  weather  fine; 
Not  just  to-day,  in  lover's  mood, 
But  through  life's  each  vicissitude. 

Not  just  when  girlish  eyes  still  shine, 
Dear,  may  I  be  your  Valentine, 
But  through  all  mortal  whims  and  fits 
While  Time  our  human  fibres  knits. 

And  though,  most  sweet,  my  peevish  earth 
Is  hardly  such  promotion  worth, 
Dear,  may  I  be  your  Valentine 
And  learn  to  make  your  virtue  mine? 

Recalling  by  love's  old  refrain 
Our  double  joy,  divided  pain, 
I  write  this  pleading,  smiling  line — 
Dear,  mfiy  I  be  your  Valentine? 


—27— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


MEDITATION  ON  SOME  BOOKSHELVES 
SHORTLY  TO  BE  BUILT 

Assiduus  sis  in  bibliofheca,  quae  tibi  Paradisi  loco  est. 
— Erasmus  to  Bishop  Fisher. 

FRIEND  carpenter,  m  re  those  shelves  of  mine, 
It   matters   little   of   what   wood   you   build 
them: 
Seek  out  no  oak  or  walnut ;  common  pine, 

Or  cypress,  will  look  well  when  I  have  filled  them. 

No  doors  of  glass,  or  scroll-work  done  for  looks ; 

No  cornices,  no  carving,  and  no  beading — 
The  ornaments  of  bookshelves  are  the  books, 

And  mine  are  not  for  show,  but  all  for  reading. 

The  topmost  shelf  eight  inches,  if  you  please, 
To  hold  my  dumpy  twelves  and  my  16mos ; 

The  others  measured  taller  by  degrees 

For  bigger  books — like  Adams  and  his  keen  mots. 

And  now,  while  all  my  volumes  are  still  boxed 
And  stand  about  in  dreary  packing  cases, 

I'll  think  about  their  pages — clean  or  foxed — 
And  plan  just  how  I'll  put  them  in  their  places. 
—28— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


MEDITATION  ON  BOOKSHELVES— (continued) 

My  "Everymans" — six  feet  of  varied  hue — 
Chatto  and  Windus'  pocket  R.  L.  S.'s— 

The  India-paper  Boswell,  fat  and  blue, 

A  noble  bit  of  work  from  Oxford's  presses. 

The  small  red  Shakespeares — Robby  Burns's  tunes — 
My  Bunyan,  my  "Urn  Burial,"  my  Borrow — 

The    bright    green   Lamb    (thin    paper)    made   by 

Newnes — 
(I  wish  those  shelves  could  be  done  by  to-morrow !) 

The  tiny  Omar  from  Southampton  Row 

Tersely  inscribed  with  two  sets  of  initials, 

Which  same  (the  first  I  gave  Her,  long  ago) 
Brought  us  at  last  to  City  Hall  officials. 

The  Houghton-Mifflin  Keats  means  much  to  me 
(Bought  from  John  Wanamaker,  when  a  strip 
ling), 
And  Thomas  Mosher's  grand  facsimile 

Of  "Leaves  of  Grass"  (the  First)— and  here's  my 
Kipling ! 

"Vergilii  Maronis  Opera" 

Imprinted  1873  at  Leipsic; 
My  Goldsmith,  stained  with  tea  at  Thompson's  Spa ; 

My  Apperson  on  Smoking,  when  I'm  pipe-sick. 

—29— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


MEDITATION  ON  BOOKSHELVES— (continued) 

My  "Bibelots,"  "World's  Classics,"  and  my  "Bohns" ; 

(I'd  like  to  see  those  books  again  this  minute!) 
My  Poe,  in  Baltimore  (at  Hochschild  Kohn's) 

I  got  for  19  cents — the  mark  is  in  it. 

And  does  my  Conrad  go  up  here?     He  does. 

And  my  McFee,  whose  writing  is  a  strong  man's. 
And  old  Burnand,  put  out  by  Roberts  Bros., 

And  De  la  Mare,  with  the  imprint  of  Longmans. 

I  must  not  start  upon  this  theme  again ; 

I  will  compose  my  longings  unto  slumber; 
For  Harry  Smith  says  he  can't  tell  just  when 

He'll  get  that  much  desiderated  lumber. 

But  when  brave  Harry  comes  with  wood  and  paints, 
And  in  their  nest  my  bairns  are  safely  brooded, 

I'll  number  o'er  my  literary  saints, 

And  his  good  name  will  surely  be  included! 


—30— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


RAPID  TRANSIT 

(To  Stephen  Vincent  Benet.) 

CLIMBING  is  easy  and  swift  on  Parnassus  t 
Knocking  my  pipe  out,  I  entered  a  bookshop; 
There  found  a  book  of  verse  by  a  young  poet. 
Comrades  at  once,  how  I  saw  his  mind  glowing! 
Saw  in  his  soul  its  magnificent  rioting — 
Then  I  ran  with  him  on  hills  that  were  windy, 
Basked  and  laughed  with  him  on  sun-dazzled  beaches, 
Glutted  myself  on  his  green  and  blue  twilights, 
Watched  him  disposing  his  planets  in  patterns, 
Tumbling  his  colors  and  toys  all  before  him. 
I  questioned  life  with  him,  his  pulses  my  pulses; 
Doubted  his   doubts,  too,   and  grieved   for  his   an 
guishes, 

Salted  long  kinship  and  knew  him  from  boyhood — 
Pulled  out  my  own  sun  and  stars  from  my  knapsack, 
Trying  my  trinkets  with  those  of  his  finding — 
And  as  I  left  the  bookshop 
My  pipe  was  stitt  warm  in  my  hand. 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  VICTORIAN  POET 
IN  HIS  RONDOTAGE 

1AM  too  old  to  be  ensnared 
By  formless  verse.    For  I  first  aired 
My  boyish  lyre  in  Dobson's  rule, 
And  taught  myself  in  that  strict  school 
To  have  my  stanzas  filed  and  pared. 

How  hopelessly  for  rhymes  I  stared ! 
But  chipped  and  polished  till  I  bared 
The  finer  grain.    Discard  my  tool? 
I  am  too  old. 

I  vote  for  verses  craftsman-cared — 
Landor'd,  Djobson'd,  De  la  Mare'd; 
For  rhyme  is  still  the  quiet  pool 
Where  Beauty  is  reflected.    You'll 
Agree  (as  many  have  declared) 
I  am  too  old* 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


CAUGHT  IN  THE  UNDERTOW 

COLIN,  worshipping  some  frail, 
By  self-deprecation  sways  her 
Calls  himself  unworthy  male, 
Hardly  even  fit  to  praise  her. 

But  this  tactic  insincere 

In  the  upshot  greatly  grieves  him 
When  he  finds  the  lovely  dear 

Quite  implicitly  believes  him. 


—53— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


SUNDAY  NIGHT 

TWO  grave  brown  eyes,  severely  bent 
Upon  a  memorandum  book — 
A  sparkling  face,  on  which  are  blent 

A  hopeful  and  a  pensive  look ; 
A  pencil,  purse,  and  book  of  checks 

With  stubs  for  varying  amounts — 
Elaine,  the  shrewdest  of  her  sex, 
Is  busy  balancing  accounts  I 


Sedately,  in  the  big  armchair, 

She,  all  engrossed,  the  audit  scans — 
Her  pencil  hovers  here  and  there 

The  while  she  calculates  and  plans ; 
What's  this  ?    A  faintly  pensive  frown 

Upon  her  forehead  gathers  now— 
Ah,  does  the  butcher — heartless  clown — 

Beget  that  shadow  on  her  brow? 


A  murrain  on  the  tradesman  churl 

Who  caused  this  fair  accountant's  gloom ! 

Just  then — a  baby's  cry — my  girl 
Arose  and  swiftly  left  the  room. 
-34— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


SUNDAY   NIGHT— (continued) 

Then  in  her  purse  by  stratagem 

I  thrust  some  bills  of  small  amounts — 

She'll  think  she  had  forgotten  them, 
And  smile  again  at  her  accounts! 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TO  HIS  BROWN-EYED  MISTRESS 

Who  Rallied  Him  for  Praising  Blue  Eyes  in  His 
Verses 

IF  SOMETIMES,  in  a  random  phrase 
(For  variation  in  my  ditty), 
I  chance  blue  eyes,  or  gray,  to  praise 
And  seem  to  intimate  them  pretty — 

It  is  because  I  do  not  dare 
With  too  unmixed  reiteration 

To  sing  the  browner  eyes  and  hair 
That  are  my  true  intoxication. 

Know,  then,  that  I  consider  brown 
For  ladies'  eyes,  the  only  color; 

And  deem  all  other  orbs  in  town 

(Compared  to  yours) „  opaquer,  duller. 

I  pray,  perpend,  my  dearest  dear ; 

While    blue-eyed    maids    the    praise    were 

drinking, 
How  insubstantial  was  their  cheer — 

It  was  of  yours  that  I  was  thinking ! 

—36— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


PEACE 

WHAT  is  this  Peace 
That  statesmen  sign? 
How  I  have  sought 
To  make  it  mine. 

Where  groaning  cities 

Clang  and  glow 
I  hunted,  hunted, 

Peace  to  know. 

And  still  I  saw 

Where  I  passed  by 
Discarded  hearts, — 

Heard  children  cry. 

By  willowed  waters 

Brimmed  with  rain 
I  thought  to  capture 

Peace  again. 

I  sat  me  down 

My  Peace  to  hoard, 
But  Beauty  pricked  me 

With  a  sword. 

—37- 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


PEACE— (continued) 


For  in  the  stillness 
Something  stirred, 

And  I  was  crippled 
For  a  word. 

There  is  no  peace 
A  man  can  find; 

The  anguish  sits 
His  heart  behind. 

The  eyes  he  loves, 
The  perfect  breast, 

Too  exquisite 

To  give  him  rest. 

This  is  his  curse 
Since  brain  began. 

His  penalty 

For  being  man. 


—38— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


MOUNTED  POLICE 

WATCHFUL,    grave,    he    sits    astride   his 
horse, 

Draped  with  his  rubber  poncho,  in  the  rain; 
He  speaks  the  pungent  lingo  of  "The  Force," 
And  those  who  try  to  bluff  him,  try  in  vain. 

Inured  to  every  mood  of  fool  and  crank, 

Shrewdly  and  sternly  all  the  crowd  he  cons : 

The  rain  drips  down  his  horse's  shining  flank, 
A  figure  nobly  fit  for  sculptor's  bronze. 

O  knight  commander  of  our  city  stress, 

Little  you  know  how  picturesque  you  are! 

We  hear  you  cry  to  drivers  who  transgress : 
"Say,  that's  a  helva  place  to  park  your  car!" 


—39— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


SONG,  IN  DEPRECATION 
OF  PULCHRITUDE 

BEAUTY  (so  the  poets  say), 
Thou  art  joy  and  solace  great; 
Long  ago,  and  far  away 

Thou  art  safe  to  contemplate, 

Beauty.    But  when  now  and  here, 
Visible  and  close  to  touch, 

All  too  perilously  near, 

Thou  tormentest  us  too  much! 

In  a  picture,  in  a  song, 

In  a  novel's  conjured  scenes, 

Beauty,  that's  where  you  belong, 
Where  perspective  intervenes. 

But,  my  dear,  in  rosy  fact 
Your  appeal  I  have  to  shirk — 

You  disturb  me,  and  distract 
My  attention  from  my  work! 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


ON  A  WHITE  MUSLIN  DRESS 
IN  A  MODISTE'S  WINDOW 

DEMURE  white  frock  which  I  espy. 
What  slender  damsel  will  buy 
This  miracle  of  dainty  dress 
And  grace  it  with  her  loveliness, 
The  bliss  of  every  doting  eye? 

Upon  a  dummy  figure  lie 
These  tender  folds,  and  seem  to  sigh 
Some  softer  bosom  to  possess, 
Dfemure  white  frock ! 

I  can't  resist.    The  price  is  high, 

But  my  cigars  I  will  deny; 

I'll  get  the  thing  for  you,  dear  Bess, 
And  when  you  wear  it,  I'll  confess 

How  utterly  entrancing  I 
Deem  your  white  frock! 


—41— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


A  VALENTINE 

TO  HER  whose  glamor  moves  and  stirs 
And  bids  me  try  to  do  her  honor, 
Whose  peerless  beauty  made  me  hers 

The  first  time  I  laid  eyes  upon  her — 
Whose  profile  thrilled  my  boyish  dream 

And  made  a  shrine  for  youthful  passion, 
Whose  magic  is  the  chosen  theme 

Her  lovers  praise,  each  in  his  fashion — 
Who  turns  her  ever-changing  face 

To  fit  the  moods  that  men  bring  to  her, 
And  in  her  heart  can  find  a  place 

For  all  who  venturously  woo  her — 
To  her  who,  beautiful  and  great, 

Deserves  a  more  pretentious  ditty — 
To  her,  in  love,  I  dedicate 

This  Valentine — to  New  York  City ! 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


IN  RE  ALFRED  EMERY  CATHIE 

(To  All  Butlerians,  but  especially  Moreby  Acklom) 

IN  1887,  Alfred  Cathie 
Became  the  private  clerk  of  Samuel  Butler ; 
And  Butler  made  a  wise  choice,  for  (i'faith!)  he 
Could  ne'er  have  found  a  faithfuller  or  subtler. 
For  Butler,  lord  of  satire  and  of  whim, 
Was  not  (we  guess)  the  kind  of  man  whom  all 
Would  understand ;  but  Alfred  worshipped  him, 
And  smiled  at  his  0  God!  O  Montreal! 

O  Cathie,  liv'st  thou  still?    Or  art  thou  gone 
The  Way  of  All  Flesh  to  The  Haven  Fair? 
If  so,  we  know  that  in  some  Erewhon 
Thou  find'st  thy  waggish  master  waiting  there — 
(For  he  who  every  mortal  foible  mocks 
Would  ask  not  Paradise,  but  Paradox.) 
Cathie,  the  author  of  that  deathless  mot: 
"Yes,  there's  tobacco  in  it — you  may  go !"  1 

1See    "The    Notebooks    of    Samuel    Butler,"    New    Edition, 
p.  251. 


—43— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


DAFFODILS 

IF  daffodils  were  merely  yellow  flowers, 
It  would  not  hurt  my  heart  to   see  them 

grow — 

But  ah,  they  speak  to  me  of  April  hours 
And  gardened  mornings  now  so  long  ago. 

For  daffodils  are  memory  and  token 

Of  vanished  days  too  tender  to  be  sung, 

Before  a  single  happy  dream  was  broken 

In  my  love's  gentle  heart  when  she  was  young^ 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TO  HIS  MISTRESS,  DEPLORING  THAT 
HE  IS  NOT  AN  ELIZABETHAN  GALAXY 

WHY  did  not  Fate  to  me  bequeath  an 
Utterance  Elizabethan? 
It  would  have  been  delight  to  me 
If  natus  ante  1603. 

My  stuff  would  not  be  soon  forgotten 
If  I  could  write  like  Harry  Wotton. 

I  wish  that  I  could  wield  the  pen 

Like  William  Drummond  of  Hawthornden. 

I  would  not  fear  the  ticking  clock 
If  I  were  Browne  of  Tavistock. 

For  blithe  conceits  I  would  not  worry 
If  I  were  Raleigh,  or  the  Earl  of  Surrey. 

I  wish  (I  hope  I  am  not  silly?) 
That  I  could  juggle  words  like  Lyly. 

I  envy  many  a  lyric  champion, 
I.  e.,  viz.,  e.  g.,  Thomas  Campion. 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TO  HIS  MISTRESS— (continued) 

I  creak  my  rhymes  up  like  a  derrick, 
I  ne'er  will  be  a  Robin  Herrick. 


My  wits  are  dull  as  an  old  Barlow — 
I  wish  that  I  were  Christopher  Marlowe. 

In  short,  I'd  like  to  be  Philip  Sidney, 
Or  some  one  else  of  that  same  kidney. 

For  if  I  were,  my  lady's  looks 

And  all  my  lyric  special  pleading 

Would  be  in  all  the  future  books, 

And  called,  at  college,  Required  Reading. 


—46— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  INTRUDER] 

AS  I  sat,  to  sift  my  dreaming 
To  the  meet  and  needed  word, 
Came  a  merry  Interruption 
With  insistence  to  be  heard. 

Smiling  stood  a  maid  beside  me, 
Half  alluring  and  half  shy; 

Soft  the  white  hint  of  her  bosom- 
Escapade  was  in  her  eye. 

"I  must  not  be  so  invaded," 
(In  an  anger  then  I  cried) — 

"Can't  you  see  that  I  am  busy? 
Tempting  creature,  stay  outside! 

"Pearly  rascal,  I  am  writing: 
I  am  now  composing  verse — 

Fie  on  antic  invitation : 

Wanton,  vanish — fly — disperse ! 

"Baggage,  in  my  godlike  moment 
What  have  I  to  do  with  thee?" 

And  she  laughed  as  she  departed — 
"I  am  Poetry,"  said  she. 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


CONFESSIONS  IN  A  HASH-HOUSE 


I 


'M  THROUGH! 

Seven  years  I've  worked  at  this  hash  coun 
ter, 

Stooping  down  five  hundred  times  a  day 
To  shout  down  the  dumb-waiter  to  Pete 
(That  Polack  never  pays  any  attention, 
I  can't  get  a  thing  I  ask  for) 
And  spilling  a  line  of  cheerful  chatter 
To  my  customers. 
I  should  think  men  would  get  tired  of  kidding. 

Those  guys  that  are  so  particular, 

Send  back   their   scrambled   eggs   for   another 

three  minutes, 

Must  have  their  tomatoes  on  a  side  dish 
And  not  on  the  meat, 
Gee,  I'll  bet  when  they're  home 
They  take  what  comes  to  them 
And  shut  up  about  it. 
And  I'll  bet  that  the  fresh  guys 
Who  pull  the  jazz  talk  day  after  day 
Have  mighty  little  to  say  at  home. 
Men  are  a  bunch  of  fakers: 
—48— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


CONFESSIONS  IN  A  HASH-HOUSE— (continued) 

If  I  ever  get  one  where  I  want  him 

I'll  make  him  behave. 

I'll  bean  him  with  a  sad-iron. 


I'm  tired  of  kidding  the  bunch. 

I'm  tired  of  listening  to  their  yap  about  what 

they  like 

And  what  they  don't  like. 
Just  for  a  change  I'd  like  to  see  some  one 
Come  in  here  and  order  his  lunch  and  eat  it 
Without  trying  to  be  funny  about  it. 
If  all  this  stooping  wasn't  so  good  for  the  figure 
(But,  oh,  my  back,  by  six  p.  M.  !) 
I'da  quit  long  ago. 

Well,  girls,  I'm  through. 
Next  week  I'm  going  to  marry  a  fellow, 
And  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  I'm  in  luck. 
He  works  in  a  restrunt  on  Girard  avenue, 
So  he  won't  ever  be  home  to  meals. 


-49— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TIT  FOR  TAT 

I  OFTEN1  pass  a  gracious  tree 
Whose  name  I  can't  identify, 
But  still  I  bow,  in  courtesy; 

It  waves  a  bough,  in  kind  reply. 

I  do  not  know  your  name,  O  tree 
(Are  you  a  hemlock  or  a  pine?) 

But  why  should  that  embarrass  me? 
Quite  probably  you  don't  know  mine. 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  TWINS 

CON  was  a  thorn  to  brother  Pro- 
On  Pro  we  often  sicked  him: 
Whatever  Pro  would  claim  to  know 
Old  Con  would  contradict  him ! 


—51— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


NURSERY  RHYMES  FOR  THE 
TENDERrHEARTED 

(Dedicated  to  Don  Marquis.) 

I 

SCUTTLE,  scuttle,  little  roach- 
How  you  run  when  I  approach : 
Up  above  the  pantry  shelf, 
Hastening  to  secrete  yourself. 

Most  adventurous  of  vermin, 
How  I  wish  I  could  determine 
How  you  spend  your  hours  of  ease, 
Perhaps  reclining  on  the  cheese. 

Cook  has  gone,  and  all  is  dark — 
Then  the  kitchen  is  your  park : 
In  the  garbage  heap  that  she  leaves 
Do  you  browse  among  the  tea  leaves  ? 

How  delightful  to  suspect 
All  the  places  you  have  trekked : 
Does  your  long  antenna  whisk  its 
Gentle  tip  across  the  biscuits  ? 
-52— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


NURSERY   RHYMES— (continued) 

Do  you  linger,  little  soul, 
Drowsing  in  our  sugar  bowl? 
Or,  abandonment  most  utter, 
Shake  a  shimmy  on  the  butter? 

Do  you  chant  your  simple  tunes 
Swimming  in  the  baby's  prunes? 
Then,  when  dawn  comes,  do  you  slink 
Homeward  to  the  kitchen  sink? 

Timid  roach,  why  be  so  shy? 
We  are  brothers,  thou  and  I. 
In  the  midnight,  like  yourself, 
I  explore  the  pantry  shelf! 


—53— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


n 


ROCKABYE,  insect,  lie  low  in  thy  den, 
Father's  a  cockroach,  mother's  a  hen. 
And  Betty,  the  maid,  doesn't  clean  up  the  sink, 
So  you  shall  have  plenty  to  eat  and  to  drink. 

Hushabye,  insect,  behind  the  mince  pies: 
If  the  cook  sees  you  her  anger  will  rise; 
She'll  scatter  poison,  as  bitter  as  gall, 
Death  to  poor  cockroach,  hen,  baby  and  all. 


m 


THERE  was  a  gay  henroach,  and  what  do  you 
think, 

She  lived  in  a  cranny  behind  the  old  sink — 
Eggshells  and  grease  were  the  chief  of  her  diet ; 
She  went  for  a  stroll  when  the  kitchen  was  quiet. 

She  walked  in  the  pantry  and  sampled  the  bread, 
But  when  she  came  back  her  old  husband  was  dead : 
Long  had  he  lived,  for  his  legs  they  were  fast, 
But  the  kitchen  maid  caught  him  and  squashed  him 

at  last. 

•—54— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


IV 


1KNEW  a  black  beetle,  who  lived  down  a  drain, 
And  friendly  he  was   though  his  manners   were 

plain ; 

When  I  took  a  bath  he  would  come  up  the  pipe, 
And  together  we'd  wash  and  together  we'd  wipe. 

Though  mother  would  sometimes  protest  with  a  sneer 
That  my  choice  of  a  tub-mate  was  wanton  and  queer, 
A  nicer  companion  I  never  have  seen: 
He  bathed  every  night,  so  he  must  have  been  clean. 

Whenever  he  heard  the  tap  splash  in  the  tub 
He'd  dash  up  the  drain-pipe  and  wait  for  a  scrub, 
And  often,  so  fond  of  ablution  was  he, 
I'd  find  him  there  floating  and  waiting  for  me. 

But  nurse  has  done  something  that  seems  a  great 

shame : 

She  saw  him  there,  waiting,  prepared  for  a  game : 
She  turned  on  the  hot  and  she  scalded  him  sore 
And  he'll  never  come  bathing  with  me  any  more. 


—55— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  SUPERMAN 

THE  man  I  give  toast  to 
And  praise  in  this  sonnet 
Has  never  played  host  to 
A  bee  in  his  bonnet. 
Remarkably  moderate, 
Thoroughly  sane, 
Indeed  odd  and  odder  it 
Seems  to  my  brain 
So  few  are  inclined  to 
Give  heed  to  his  tone, 
But  still  have  a  mind  to 
Fool  views  of  their  own. 
The  wisdom  of  Sinai  is  his  by  the  shelf  .  .  , 
Of  course  you  divine  I — allude  to  Myself. 


—56— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TO  A  TELEPHONE  OPERATOR  WHO  HAS 
A  BAD  COLD 

HOW  hoarse  and  husky  in  my  ear 
Your  usually  cheerful  chirrup: 
You  have  an  awful  cold,  my  dear — 
Try  aspirin  or  bronchial  syrup. 

When  I  put  in  a  call  to-day 

Compassion  stirred  my  humane  blood  red 
To  hear  you  faintly,  sadly,  say 

The  number :  Burr  ay  Hill  dide  hudred! 

I  felt  (I  say)  quick  sympathy 

To  hear  you  croak  in  the  receiver — 

Will  you  be  sorry  too  for  me 

A  month  hence,  when  I  have  hay  fever? 


—57— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


MY  OWN  SPRING  SONG 

AND  now  'tis  spring,  a  lovely  scene — 
O  poplar  trees,  long,  green,  and  slender: 
Alas  that  all  this  tender  green 
Is  not  a  legal  tender. 


—58— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  URBAN  POET 

(Requested  to  supply  a  sprmg  poem,  while  his  wife, 
who  understands  these  matters,  is  away  from  home.) 

"¥  ^  THEN  reeks  the  foetid  symplocarp 

V  V     (Or  cabbage,  frankly  known  as  skunk) 
And  when  the  frogs,  with  pipe  and  harp, 
Begin  to  whistle  and  to  plunk, 


I  think  of  yellow  marigolds 

(They  must  be  yellow,  by  the  name) 
And  of  the  bloodroot  that  unfolds 

As  bright  (presumably?)  as  flame. 


Hepaticas,  so  frail  and , 

And anemones 

That  on  this covered  bank 

Are  trembling  in  the  gentle  breeze. 

The  saxifrage,  clear in  hue 

(Oh,  is  it  yellow,  red  or  pink?) 
The  violet's  undoubted  blue, 

The  Dutchman's  Breeches  (mauve,  I  think?) 

—59— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE   URBAN   POET--(continued) 

The  lucid  willow  by  the  stream 

With catkins  of  soft  fur; 

The  mountain  laurel's gleam, 

All  these  are  lovely,  I  aver. 

Dear  burdock,  blossom  of  my  heart, 

Upon  your  petals  glad  I  look ; 
(I  do  not  know  these  things  apart, 

And  got  their  names  out  of  a  book.*) 

* 

Oh,  flowery  friends  of  field  and  wood, 

What  pleasure  your  existence  gives.  .  .  . 
And  honestly,  I  wish  I  could 
Supply  the  proper  adjectives! 

*  "Familiar    Features    of    the    Roadside,"    by    F.    Schuyler 
Mathews. 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


MUSINGS  ON  A  COOL  RETREAT 

1KNOW  a  little  hidden  pool 
Where  happy  bathers  oft  repair; 
Secluded,  clear  and  deep  and  cool, 

Men  find  right  brave  refreshment  there, 
And  swiftly  doffing  shirts  and  panties 
They  revel  blissful — rari  nantes. 

Remote  from  scenes  of  toil  and  teen 
All  heat  and  grievance  they  expunge ; 

Enjoying  in  that  shimmering  green 
The  swift  shock  of  a  silver  plunge, 

And  crying  "0  deorum  quicquid 

We  thank  thee  for  this  pool :  some  liquid !" 

Sharp  glory  of  that  dive,  the  first — 
And  thrill  (but  how  can  it  be  told?) 

When  bodies,  slowly  falling,  burst 
Into  the  all-encircling  cold, 

Then  splash,  or  float  among  the  ripple 

As  passive  as  a  participle. 

How  far  away,  you  will  agree, 

Must  lie  that  cool  and  placid  grot — 

—61— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


MUSINGS  ON  A  COOL  RETREAT— (continued) 

Amid  the  Catskill  greenery? 

Some  distant  Adirondack  spot? 
Yet,  if  you  ask  where  is  the  place  meant — 
The  Woolworth  Building,  in  the  basement ! 


PART  TWO:     SONNETS 


SONNETS 


QUICKENING 

SUCH  little,  puny  things  are  words  in  rhyme : 
Poor  feeble  loops  and  strokes  as  frail  as  hairs ; 
You  see  them  printed  here,  and  mark  their  chime, 
And  turn  to  your  more  durable  affairs. 
Yet  on  such  petty  tools  the  poet  dares 
To  run  his  race  with  mortar,  bricks  and  lime, 

And  draws  his  frail  stick  to  the  point,  and  stares 
To  aim  his  arrow  at  the  heart  of  Time. 

Intangible,  yet  pressing,  hemming  in, 
This  measured  emptiness  engulfs  us  all, 

And  yet  he  points  his  paper  javelin 

And  sees  it  eddy,  waver,  turn,  and  fall, 

And  feels,  between  delight  and  trouble  torn, 

The  stirring  of  a  sonnet  still  unborn. 


—66— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


AT  A  WINDOW  SILL 

r  §  JO  WRITE  a  sonnet  needs  a  quiet  mmd.  .  .  , 
JL       I    paused    and    pondered,    tried    again.      To 

write.  .  .  . 

Raising  the  sash,  I  breathed  the  winter  night: 
Papers  and  small  hot  room  were  left  behind. 
Against  the  gusty  purple,  ribbed  and  spined 
With  golden  slots  and  vertebrae  of  light 
Men's  cages  loomed.     Down  sliding  from  a  height 
An  elevator  winked  as  it  declined. 

Coward!     There  is  no  quiet  in  the  brain — 
If  pity  burns  it  not,  then  beauty  will: 
Tinder  it  is  for  every  blowing  spark. 
Uncertain  whether  this  is  bliss  or  pain 
The  unresting  mind  will  gaze  across  the  sill 
From  high  apartment  windows,  in  the  dark. 


—66— 


SONNETS 


THE  RIVER  OF  LIGHT 
I.    Broadway,  103rd  to  96th. 

LIGHTS  foam  and  bubble  down  the  gentle  grade 
Bright  shine  chop  sueys  and  rotisseries ; 
In  pink  translucence  glowingly  displayed 
See  camisole  and  stocking  and  chemise. 
Delicatessen  windows  full  of  cheese — 
Above,  the  chimes  of  church-bells  toll  and  fade — 
And  then,  from  off  some  distant  Palisade 
That  gluey  savor  on  the  Jersey  breeze ! 

The  burning  bulbs,  in  green  and  white  and  red, 

Spell  out  a  Change  of  Program  Sun.,  Wed.,  Fri., 

A  clicking  taxi  spins  with  ruby  spark. 

There  is  ,a  sense  of  poising  near  the  head 

Of  some  great  flume  of  brightness,  flowing  by 

To  pour  in  gathering  torrent  through  the  dark. 


—67— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


II.     Below  96th. 

The  current  quickens,  and  in  golden  flow 

Hurries  its  flotsam  downward  through  the  night — 

Here  are  the  rapids  where  the  undertow 

Whirls  endless  motors  in  a  gleaming  flight. 

From  blazing  tributaries,  left  and  right, 

Influent  streams  of  blue  and  amber  grow. 

Columbus  Circle  eddies :  all  below 

Is  pouring  flame,  a  gorge  of  broken  light. 

See  how  the  burning  river  boils  in  spate, 
Channeled  by  cliffs  of  insane  jewelry, 
Fainting  a  rosy  roof  on  cloudy  air — 
And  just  about  ten  minutes  after  eight, 
Tossing  a  surf  of  color  to  the  sky 
It  bursts  in  cataracts  upon  Times  Square! 


SONNETS 


IN  AN  AUCTION  ROOM 

(Letter  of  John  Keats  to  Fanny  Brawne,  Anderson 
Galleries,  March  15,  1920.) 

To  Dr.  A.  S.  W.  Rosenbach. 

TTJOW  about  this  lot?  said  the  auctioneer; 
JL  J.     One  hundred,  may  I  say,  just  for  a  start? 
Between  the  plum-red  curtains,  drawn  apart, 
A  written  sheet  was  held.  .  .  .  And  strange  to  hear 
(Dealer,  would  I  were  steadfast  as  thou  art) 
The  cold  quick  bids.     (Against  you  in  the  rear!) 
The  crimson  salon,  in  a  glow  more  clear 
Burned  bloodlike  purple  as  the  poet's  heart. 

Song  that  outgrew  the  singer !     Bitter  Love 
That  broke  the  proud  hot  heart  it  held  in  thrall — 
Poor    script,    where    still    those    tragic    passions 

move — 

Eight  hundred  bid:  fair  warning:  the  last  call: 
The  soul  of  Adonais,  like  a  star.  .  .  . 
Sold  for  eight  hundred  dollars — Doctor  RJ 


—69— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


EPITAPH  FOR  A  POET  WHO  WROTE   NO 
POETRY 

"It  is  said  that  a  poet  has  died  young  in  the  breast 
of  the  most  stolid." — Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

V  Tf  THAT  was  the  service  of  this  poet  ?     He 
V  V     Who  blinked  the  blinding  dazzle-rays  that 

run 

Where  life  profiles  its  edges  to  the  sun, 
And  still  suspected  much  he  could  not  see. 
Clay-stopped,  yet  in  his  taciturnity 
There  lay  the  vein  of  glory,  known  to  none; 
And  moods  of  secret  smiling,  only  won 
When  peace  and  passion,  time  and  sense,  agree. 

Fighting  the  world  he  loved  for  chance  to  brood, 
Ignorant  when  to  embrace,  when  to  avoid 
His  loves  that  held  him  in  their  vital  clutch — 
This  was  his  service,  his  beatitude; 
This  was  the  inward  trouble  he  enjoyed 
Who  knew  so  little,  and  who  felt  so  much. 


—70— 


SONNETS 


TO  A  VAUDEVILLE  TERRIER 
SEEN  ON  A  LEASH,  IN  THE  PARK 

THREE  times  a  day — at  two,  at  seven,  at  nine- 
O  terrier,  you  play  your  little  part : 
Absurd  in  coat  and  skirt  you  push  a  cart, 
With  inner  anguish  walk  a  tight-rope  line. 
Up  there,  before  the  hot  and  dazzling  shine 
You  must  be  rigid  servant  of  your  art, 
Nor  watch  those  fluffy  cats — your  doggish  heart 
Might  leap  and  then  betray  you  with  a  whine! 

But  sometimes,  when  you've  faithfully  rehearsed, 
Your  trainer  takes  you  walking  in  the  park, 
Straining  to  sniff  the  grass,  to  chase  a  frog. 
The  leash  is  slipped,  and  then  your  joy  will  burst- 
Adorable  it  is  to  run  and  bark, 
To  be — alas,  how  seldom — just  a  dog! 


—71-— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TO   A    BURLESQUE    SOUBRETTE 

UPSTAGE  the  great  high-shafted  beefy  choir 
Squawked  in  £000  watts  of  orange  glare — 
You  came,  and  impudent  and  deuce-may-care 
Danced  where  the  gutter  flamed  with  footlight  fire. 

Flung  from  the  roof,  spots  red  and  yellow  burned 
And  followed  you.     The  blatant  brassy  clang 
Of  instruments  drowned  out  the  words  you  sang, 

But  goldenly  you  capered,  twirled  and  turned. 

Boyish  and  slender,  child-lirnbed,  quick  and  proud, 

A  sprite  of  irresistible  disdain, 

Fair  as  a  jonquil  in  an  April  rain, 
You  seemed  too  sweet  an  imp  for  that  dull  crowd.  .  .  , 

And  then,  behind  the  scenes,  I  heard  you  say, 
"0  Gawd,  I  got  a  hellish  cold  to-day!" 


—72— 


SONNETS 


SONNETS  OF  A  GEOMETER 

THE   CIRCLE 

FEW  things  are  perfect :  we  bear  Eden's  scar ; 
Yet  faulty  man  was  godlike  in  design 
That  day  when  first,  with  stick  and  length  of  twine, 
He  drew  me  on  the  sand.     Then  what  could  mar 
His  joy  in  that  obedient  mystic  line; 
And  then,  computing  with  a  zeal  divine, 
He  called  TT  3-point-14159 
And  knew  my  lovely  circuit  2  TT  r! 

A  circle  is  a  happy  thing  to  be — 
Think  how  the  joyful  perpendicular 
Erected  at  the  kiss  of  tangency 
Must  meet  my  central  point,  my  avatar! 
They  talk  of  14  points :  yet  only  3 
Determine  every  circle :  Q.  E.  D. 


—73— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


SONNETS  IN  TIME  OF  TRIAL 

(See  Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  Act   I,   Scene   5, 
lines  35-36.) 

I 

QUEER !  there  was  no  premonitory  twitch, 
No  twangling  of  my  nerves,  to  advertise 
All  you  would  mean  to  me:  contrariwise, 
Full-blown  your  passion  seized  me:  passion  which 
Made  our  relation  so  supremely  rich 
In  yearning,  wild  remorses,  and  surprise. 
And  yet  I  uttered  hardly  any  cries 
When  Pain  danced  tiptoe  in  her  pallid  niche. 

0  bitter  my  immedicable  woe — 

And  must  I  lose  you?    Ah,  I  could  not  tell ! 
Chimerical  seemed  life  and  love  and  youth. 

1  never  knew  that  I  could  suffer  so 
Until  I  ate  that  chocolate  caramel 

And  throbbed  with  you,  O  sorely  stricken  tooth ! 


—74— 


SONNETS 


II 


I  felt  that  crumbling,  teetering  thrill  again: 
Life  was  a  nausea,  earth  a  black  disgrace; 
The  sunlight  was  offensive  to  my  face; 
Man,  made  of  mud,  and  conduited  for  pain. 
I  longed  to  probe  through  tissue,  nerve  and  vein 
And  with  some  thin,  sharp  instrument  to  chase 
This  lurking  fiend  of  torment  from  his  place 
And  free  the  devil  tugging  at  his  chain. 

A  shaking,  shuddering  pang,  and  I  was  shent ; 
It  seemed  to  split  my  skull,  without  a  warning ; 
I  thought:  I  hope  I'll  soon  be  dead,  by  Jove! 
I  took  my  hat  and  stick,  and  out  I  went. 
The  druggist,  as  I  bought  some  oil  of  clove, 
Said,  "What  a  jolly,  sunny  Sunday  morning!" 


-75— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TO  'AN  OLD  FRIEND 
(For  Lloyd  Williams.) 

I    LIKE  to  dream  of  some  established  spot 
Where  you  and  I,  old  friend,  an  evening  through 
Under  tobacco's  fog,  streaked  gray  and  blue, 
Might  reconsider  laughters  unforgot. 
Beside  a  hearth-glow,  golden-clear  and  hot, 
I'd  hear  you  tell  the  oddities  men  do. 
The  clock  would  tick,  and  we  would  sit,  we  two- 
Life  holds  such  meetings  for  us,  does  it  not? 

Happy  are  men  when  they  have  learned  to  prize 
The  sure  unvarnished  virtue  of  their  friends, 
The  unchanged  kindness  of  a  well-known  face : 
On  old  fidelities  our  world  depends, 
And  runs  a  simple  course  in  honest  wise, 
Not  a  mere  taxicab  shot  wild  through  space! 


—76— 


SONNETS 


THOUGHTS  WHILE  PACKING  A  TRUNK 

THE  sonnet  is  a  trunk,  and  you  must  pack 
With  care,  to  ship  frail  baggage  far  away; 
The  octet  is  the  trunk;  sestet,  the  tray; 
Tight,  but  not  overloaded,  is  the  knack. 
First,  at  the  bottom,  heavy  thoughts  you  stack, 
And  in  the  chinks  your  adjectives  you  lay — 
Your  phrases,  folded  neatly  as  you  may, 
Stowing  a  syllable  in  every  crack. 

Then,  in  the  tray,  your  daintier  stuff  is  hid: 
The  tender  quatrain  where  your  moral  sings — 

Be  careful,  though,  lest  as  you  close  the  lid 
You  crush  and  crumple  all  these  fragile  things. 

Your  couplet  snaps  the  hasps  and  turns  the  key — 

Ship  to  The  Editor,  marked  C.  O.  D. 


— 77— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  TWO-MAN  SAW 

The  rocking,  ringing  steel  sings  to  and  fro, 
A  steady  buzz,  a  whang  and  rasp  and  hiss; 

The  sawdust  spurts  and  makes  twin  piles  below; 
Green  wood  is  tough. 

The  art  is  chiefly  this : 
Don't  bear  too  hard,  but  leave  it  to  the  saw, 

(Sam  holds  the  other  end,  and  knows  the  knack)  ; 
Pull  firmly,  but  still  lightly,  on  the  draw, 

But  do  not  push.    Your  partner  takes  it  back. 

Then,  when  your  rhythm's  easy,  going  well, 

And  back-arm  muscles  twinge  a  bit,  mayhap, 
Swayed  in  a  kind  of  dogged  swoon,  you'll  smell 

That  lusty  savor  of  hot  sun  on  sap. 
"Well,     Sam,     your     saw,     she     swings     a     wicked 

tooth."  .   .  . 

The  trunk  is  through.     Sam  grins.     "You  said  the 
truth!" 


—78— 


SONNETS 


A  SONNET  ON  OYSTERS 

(Dedicated  to  Grif  Alexander,  in  honor  of  a  barrel 
that  came  from  Green  Holly  Creek,  Patuxent 
River,  Maryland.) 

TO  tell  the  truth,  I  really  never  knew 
What  oysters  were,  until,  one  night  this  week, 
A  barrel  came  up  from  Green  Holly  Creek 
And  Grif  set  up  a  supper  for  the  crew. 
First,  on  the  shell,  most  glorious  to  view, 
Their  little  sacks,  distent  and  soft  and  sleek, 
Dribbled  with  acid  lemon- juice,  and  eke 
Bill's  home-made  ketchup.  .  .  .  And  then  came  the 
stew! 

A  stew,  I  say,  since  rhyme  must  needs  be  sung, 
Though,  to  be  factual,  the  'valves  were  panned — 
And  then,  the  Colonel's  gorgeous  bowl  of  punch. 
O  zesty  broth,  serene  upon  the  tongue, 
And  ginger  cookies,  baked  by  Jim's  wife's  hand, 
The  night  Grif  broached  that  barrel  for  the  bunch ! 


—79— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


IN  PHILADELPHIA 


1HAVE  seen  sunsets  gild  the  pillared  steam 
Where  Broad  Street  Station  hoops  with  arches 

dark 

The  western  fire;  and  seen  the  looming,  stark 
Crags  of  the  Hall  grow  soft  in  morning  gleam. 

One  drowsy  eve  I  wandered  far  to  mark 
The  Neck,  a  land  of  opal  color-scheme; 
And  know  no  fairer  place  to  watch  and  dream 
Than  on  a  bench  in  old  Penn  Treaty  Park. 

And  there  are  corners,  glimpses,  houses,  streets, 
With  curious  satisfaction  in  the  view, 

And  unconfessed  sweet  moments  when  one  meets 
The  destiny  of  human  life  anew. 

A  city  rarely  beautiful  I  know  .... 

It  is  not  men  alone  who  make  it  so. 


— SO— 


SONNETS 


II 

I  have  seen  sttfeets  where  strange  enchantment  broods  :• 
Old  ruddy  houses  where  the  morning  shone 
In  seemly  quiet  on  their  tranquil  moods , 
Across  the  sills  white  curtains  outward  blown. 
Their  marble  steps  were  scoured  as  white  as  bone 
Where  scrubbing  housemaids  toiled  on  wounded 

knee — 
And  yet,  among  all  streets  that  I  have  known 

These  placid  byways  give  least  peace  to  me. 

r 

In  such  a  house,  where  green  light  shining  through 

(From  some  back  garden)  framed  her  silhouette 

I  saw  a  girl,  heard  music  blithely  sung. 

She  stood  there  laughing  in  a  dress  of  blue? 

And  as  I  went  on,  slowly,  there  I  met 

An  old,  old  woman,  who  had  once  been  young. 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TO  MY  WIFE 

T  li  THO  else,  dear  eyes  of  brown,  could  know  or 
V  V  dream 

Our  thousand  foolish  tender  little  ways? 
Absurdities  and  trifles  though  they  seem, 

They  are  the  salt  and  savor  of  our  days ! 
They  are  too  quaint  and  too  ridiculous 

To  name  them  here,  or  publicly  explain ; 
For  what  is  deep  significance  to  us 

Would,  to  the  general,  prove  quite  insane! 
And  I,  who  must  be  prim  ten  hours  a  day 

And  talk  choplogic,  and  seem  wise,  severe — 
How  blithely  do  I  cast  pretence  away 

And  whisper  sheerest  moonshine  in  your  ear ! 
Your  laughter  is  so  sweet,  it  strikes  me  dumb 
To  think  how  suddenly  life's  partings  come. 


SONNETS 


HOSTAGES 

"He  that  hath  wife  and  children  hath  given  hos 
tages  to  fortune." — BACON. 

AYE,  Fortune,  thou  hast  hostage  of  my  best ! 
I,  that  was  once  so  heedless  of  thy  frown, 
Have  armed  thee  cap-a-pie  to   strike  me  down, 
Have  given  thee  blades  to  hold  against  my  breast. 
My  virtue,  that  was  once  all  self-possessed, 
Is  parceled  out  in  little  hands,  and  brown 
Bright  eyes,  and  in  a  sleeping  baby's  gown: 
To  threaten  these  will  put  me  to  the  test. 

Sure,  since  there  are  these  pitiful  poor  chinks 
Upon  the  makeshift  armor  of  my  heart, 

For  thee  no  honor  lies  in  such  a  fight ! 
And  thou  wouldst  shame  to  vanquish  one,  methinks, 
Who  came  awake  with  such  a  painful  start 
To  hear  the  coughing  of  a  child  at  night  I 


—83— 


PART  THREE:     TRANSLATIONS  FROM 
THE  CHINESE 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


DEDICATED 
WITHOUT  HIS  PEKMISSION 

To 
WILLIAM  ROSE  BENET 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE 
CHINESE 


TRANSLATOR'S   NOTE 

It  is  with  some  reluctance  that  I  accede  to  the  pub 
lisher's  entreaties  to  put  these  translations  before  the 
world  of  polite  letters.  I  am  painfully  aware  that  my 
knowledge  of  Chinese  is  rather  rudimentary,  based  as 
it  is  largely  on  laundry  slips.  I  cannot  help  having 
a  suspicion  that  there  are  a  good  many  of  the  40,000 
ideographs  with  which  I  am  not  sufficiently  familiar. 
But  my  readers  will  sympathize  when  they  realize  the 
difficulties  of  the  task  which  I  have  set  myself.  It  is 
disconcerting,  when  spending  an  evening  translating 
the  pearly  and  beautifully  chiselled  epigrams  of  No 
Sho  or  P'ur  Fish,  to  find  that  the  character  which  I 
thought  (by  comparison  with  my  collection  of  laundry 
slips)  must  mean  a  pair  of  pyjamas,  would,  if  so 
translated,  give  a  regrettably  intimate  and  informal 
tone  to  the  verse.  It  is  true  that  relying  entirely  on 
this  laundry  slip  glossary  somewhat  restricts  the  scope 
of  my  translations ;  and  therefore  I  have  not  scrupled  to 
do  as  other  devotees  of  Chinese  verse,  and  when  in 
doubt  as  to  the  exact  meaning  of  a  phrase  I  have  always 
translated  it  a  bowl  of  jade  filed  with  the  milk  of  the 
moonlight. 

—87— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE— (continued) 

Most  interesting  of  all,  it  will  be  agreed,,  is  the  fact 
that  the  translations  establish  beyond  cavil  that  the 
authors  of  these  poems  are  men  very  much  like  our 
selves.  Most  of  the  Chinese  poetry  that  has  been 
translated  is  of  a  querulous  or  bibbing  sort:  it  gives  an 
unfair  picture  of  a  high-spirited  and  proud  race.,  repre 
senting  them  as  eternally  moaning  about  maidens  with 
finger-nails  shaped  like  filberts,  lotus  leaves  in  the  moon 
shine,  and  death  by  excess  of  wine.  The  Chinese  poets 
I  here  introduce  have  not  been  taken  up  by  the  poetical 
coteries,  because  they  are  of  the  more  familiar  sort;  they 
are  the  humorists  of  China,  the  Chinese  colyumists  as  it 
were. 

Any  proceeds  from  the  sale  of  these  translations  will 
be  applied  to  increasing  and  codifying  my  collection  of 
laundry  slips. 

THE  TRANSLATOR. 


—88— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


NO   SHO 

In  my  translations  from  No  Sho  I  have  tried,  though 
clumsily,  to  express  something  of  the  brooding  bitter 
ness  that  pervades  his  work.  For  a  long  time  he  was 
a  sort  of  private  colyumist  to  an  eminent  mandarin  of 
the  P'un  dynasty.  It  was  his  duty  to  write,  every  day, 
a  number  of  paragraphs,  epigrams,  wheezes,  and  ditties, 
and  bring  them  in  the  afternoon  to  his  patron's  tea 

/house.  Here  he  would  read  them  aloud  to  the  mandarin 
and  his  guests  as  they  sat  at  their  wine  and  watermelon 
seeds.  After  each  item  was  read,  there  would  be  a  little 
music  on  the  Chinese  zither,  and  the  assembled  company 
would  discuss  the  possibility  of  No  Sho's  work  being 
taken  up  by  Miss  Amy  Lowell  or  Mr.  Witter  Bynner. 
One  day,  however,  in  a  fit  of  pique  because  the  audience 
did  not  sufficiently  applaud  one  of  his  apothegms,  No 
Sho  leaped  out  of  the  tea-house  into  the  lake.  He  did 
not  really  intend  to  destroy  himself,  but  only  to  give 
his  employer  a  fright,  thinking  thereby  to  get  his  salary 

\raised;  but  the  water  lilies  (which  are  so  frequently  de 
scribed  in  Chinese  poetry),  were  very  thick  in  that  pond, 
and  their  stems  got  entwined  round  his  neek,  and  he 
perished.  It  was  obvious  that  his  death  was  not  suicide, 
for  he  had  carefully  laid  his  manuscripts  on  a  bench  be 
fore  jumping,  and  after  the  excitement  (and  the  poet) 
had  subsided  it  was  found  that  among  the  papers  was 

—89— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


NO  SHO— (continued) 

a  stamped  addressed  envelope  directed  to  Lady  Editor, 
Well  Known  Pottry  Magazine,  Chicago,  t  In  spite  of 
the  utmost  efforts  of  Mr.  Burleson,  it  was  not  possible 
to  find  out  who  was  meant  by  this ;  and  No  Sho's  manu 
scripts  were  at  last  sold  by  the  Dead  Letter  Office;  in 
which  way  they  came  to  my  hands. 


SILHOUETTE  OF  A  HUSBAND 

LADIES   classify  husbands 
Into  two  classes: 
Those  who  are  "attentive," 
And  those  who  are  not. 
I  fear  I  am  of  the  latter, 
For  I  never  can  remember 
My  home  telephone  number. 

But  my  friend  Chang  Jo 

Always  knows  his  home  number. 

He  calls  up  so  often  to  say 

"My  dear, 

I  will  not  be  home  to  dinner  this  evening." 


/ 
—90— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


A  BURNING  BOSOM 

SITTING  in  this  tea-house, 
Looking  out  on  the  clear  cool  water 
And  the  silver  lilies, 

How  I  wish  I  could  press  a  dripping  lily-pad 
On  my  burning  bosom 
To  ease  me  of  my  smart. 
A  broken  heart,  you  ask,  Mar  Quong? 
No,  no,  a  mustard  plaster. 


INGRATITUDE 

BEARING  Walt  Whitman  in  mind, 
I  intend  to  saTT 
On  my  deathbed: 
"I  regard  my  poems  as 
My  carte  de  visite 
To  posterity." 
It  is  sad  to  have  to  add 
That  posterity  will  reply 
"Not  at  home." 


—91— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


PRUDENCE 

~f~  fELP!     Mad  dog!  cried  some  one. 
jLji     Wisdom,  I  murmured, 
Is  better  than  rabies, 
And  hastened 
In  the  opposite  direction. 


SAFE  AND  SANE 

MY  theology,  briefly, 
Is  that  the  Universe 
Was  Dictated 
But  not  Signed. 


LEGES  SINE  MORIBUS  VANAE 

Y  1 1HE  Ten  Commandments 

JL     Are  not  really  commandments, 
But  they  are  valuable 
Suggestions. 


—92— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


RECIPROCATION 

ONE  good  nocturne 
Deserves  another, 
Said  George  Sand 
When  she  met  Chopin. 


AN!  EJACULATION 

GENIUS,  cried  the  commuter. 
As  he  ran  for  the  8.13, 
Consists  of  an  infinite  capacity 
For  catching  trains. 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


PANORAMA  OF  A  HAPPY  EVENING 

Six  o'Clock 

WHEN  the  frogs  clear  their  throats 
Like  old  club  members, 

And  the  fireflies 

Punctuate  the  dusk  with  a  network  of  bright 
ness, 

Hasten,  boy,  to  His  Excellency  Mu-Kow, 

And  ask  him  to  join  me 

In  a  trifling  merriment. 

And  be  careful 

To  stretch  two  white  ropes 

Along  the  path, 

Lest,  when  His  Excellency  totters  homeward  in 
the  darkness, 

He  fall  in  the  canal. 

Eight  o'Clock 

Welcome,  Excellency,  welcome! 
You  do  me  too  much  honor ! 
Lay  aside  your  robe  and  we  will  sit  in  the  pa 
goda. 

Throw  your  lip  over  these  pickled  sharks'  fins. 
I  pray  you,  be  at  your  ease: 
—94— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 

PANORAMA  OF  A  HAPPY  EVENING— (continued) 

Let  this  evening  be  conducted  on  a  high  philo 
sophical  plane. 

The  great  Confucius,  as  you  were  saying,  put 
it  neatly : 

Prohibition  cannot  harm  me, 

I  have  wined  to-day. 

Nine  o'Clock 

Yes,  Excellency,  you  have  said  it : 

We  live  but  once. 

Boy!     Some  more  of  those  curried  snails! 

How  warm  this  moonlight  is. 

By  all  means,  Excellency,  take  off  your  shirt 

If  you  will  be  more  comfortable. 

Ten  o'Clock 

Admirable,  admirable! 

To  speak  sooth,  Excellency,  I  had  no  idea 

That  you  could  do   the  Shan-Tung  saraband 

with  such  spirit. 

But — you  will  pardon  me  for  mentioning  it — 
Let  me  clear  away  the  broken  glassware 
Before  you  dance  barefoot  on  the  table. 
The  Emperor  would  never  forgive  me 
If  you  should  wound  yourself — 
Yes,  I  can  see  you  perfectly  from  here. 
It  is  very  comfortable  here,  under  the  table. 

—95— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


PANORAMA  OF  A  HAPPY  EVENING— (continued) 

Eleven   crClock 

Boy,  boy!     Make  haste! 
I  begged  His  Excellency  to  tread  with  care. 
Woe  is  me !     His  Excellency  insisted  on  catch 
ing  a  cool,  slippery  eel 
To  lay  against  his  heated  forehead. 
Hasten,  boy,  hasten ! 
His  Excellency 
Has  fallen  into  the  canal. 


CERTAINTY 

HOW  is  it  that  human  beings 
Are  so  certain  of  everything? 
Every  man  will  tell  you,  fiercely, 
That  he  has  bought  far  more  lunches 
For  other  men 

Than  have  been  bought  for  him. 
And  yet,  mathematically, 
That  cannot  be  so. 


—96— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


CONFESSION 

WHENEVER  I  meet  a  handsome  man 
I  have  an  irresistible  impulse 
To  look  at  the  nearest  mirror 
The  most  satisfying  form  of  art 
Is  contrast. 


ONE  OF  MANIY 

THE  man  who  told  me 
He  invented  indirect  lighting 
Was  a  liar. 
How  about  the  moon? 


HANDICAPPED 

LIFE  is  a  game  of  whist 
Between  Man  and  Nature 
In  which  Nature  knows  all  Man's  cards. 
Well,  suppose  I  try  you  out  on  trumps, 
Says  Nature, 
Leading  the  mating  instinct. 

—97— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  CODE 

THOSE  fireflies  sparkling  in  the  willows, 
Here,  there,  here,  there; 
Those  frogs  piping  in  the  moonlit  pond, 
Tweedle,  tweedle,  tweedle — 
There  seems  to  be  a  persistent  method  in  it. 
What  is  the  code? 
Is  Nature  trying  to  get  across  some  message  to  me? 


THE  POINT  OF  VIEW 

WHEN  the  birch  tree  was  cut  down 
The  birds  came  and  sat  on  the  trunk 
And  gossiped. 
In  this  tree  I  found  the  largest  caterpillar  I  ever 

ate, 

Said  the  robin. 

In  this  tree  I  met  my  first  wife, 
Said  the  wren. 


—98— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT 

ONE  of  the  penalties 
Of  being  a  human  being 
Is 
Other  human  beings. 


ADVICE 

NEVER  try  to  tell  people  anything 
Unless 

They  know  it  already. 
Even  then, 
It  is  well  to  refrain. 


FALSE  COLORS 

DO  not  be  alarmed  by  the  truculence 
Of  my  poems. 

I  myself  am  timid,  dilatory, 
Fond  of  plenty  of  gravy, 
And  I  hate  liquor. 
My  motto  is,  the  velvet  hand 
In  the  iron  glove. 

—99— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


WHILE  IN  THE  MOOD 

IF  there  is  any  kind  of  poetry 
I  haven't  written, 
You  might  tell  me  about  it, 
And  I'll  do  some. 


—100— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE' 


P'UR  FISH 

This  great  poet,  who  is  known  to  us  only  by  his  nick 
name  (given  him  by  his  contemporaries  because  he  in 
sisted  on  writing  in  rhyme,  when  most  Chinese  poetry, 
as  is  well  known,  is  in  free  verse),  perished  in  the 
Bolshevist  massacres  during  the  P'un  dynasty.  He  was 
a  Mandarin  of  the  old  school,  and  his  Critique  of  Pure 
Treason  enraged  the  republicans  of  that  day.  He 
amused  himself  by  poking  fun  at  the  other  poets  of  his 
time,  particularly  those  who  gathered  in  societies  and 
sodalities  and  sororities  for  the  purpose  of  admiring 
one  another's  trifles.  This  was  very  nearly  fatal  to  his 
fame.  Only  the  pungent  and  terse  wit  of  his  verses 
has  kept  them  alive. 


TO  THE  BROWNING  SOCIETY  OF 
SHANGHAI 

BE  cruel  to  poets,  and  don't  let  them  think 
You  like  their  preposterous  patterns  in  ink; 
For  poets  write  better  when  not  overfed: 
The  time  to  praise  poets  is  after  they're  dead. 

--101— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


POETS  EASILY  CONSOLED 

THE  anguishes  of  poets  are 
Less  grim  than  other  men's,  by  far: 
When  other  men  can  only  curse, 
The  poet  puts  his  woes  in  verse. 
And  Yee  Lee,  though  at  first  the  pang  was  smart 
When  by  his  friend  Wu  Wu  his  bride  was  stolen, 
Soon  asked  which  best  expressed  a  broken  heart, 
A  dash,  a  comma,  or  a  semi-colon? 


AN  ARISTOCRAT  OF  THE  PTJN  DYNASTY 

JUST  as  the  beheading  was  all  ready  to  begin, 
"What  was  your  offence?"  they  asked  the  an 
cient  mandarin. 

The  mandarin  smiled  grimly,  as  on  his  knees  he  sank 
"My  offence?"  he  whispered:  "Ah,  my  offence  is — 
rank." 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


THE  ASTRONOMER  TO  HIS  MISTRESS 

THOU  art  my  earth,  and  I  thy  moon, 
In  orbit  ever  true  to  thee: 
O  grant  thy  planet  may  come  soon 
To  his  ecstatic  perigee. 


AUTUMN  COLORS 

HOW  tedious  it  seems,  and  strange, 
That  poets  should  be  raving  still 
Of  autumn  tints:  it's  just  the  change 
From  chlorophyll  to  xanthophyll. 


—103— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


PO  LIL  CHILE 

Po  Lil  Chile  is  one  of  the  few  female  poets  of  China. 
In  regard  to  poetry  the  position  of  women  in  the 
Flowery  Republic  is  very  different  from  the  status  of 
lady  poets  in  our  own  dear  country.  In  fact,  it  is 
considered  positively  unseemly  for  ladies  to  publish 
their  verses,  and  Miss  Chile's  suitor,  Woof  Woof,  broke 
off  the  engagement  when  her  volume  Chinese  Chintzes 
appeared.  It  is  rather  pathetic  that  Miss  Chile,  in 
many  of  her  verses,  represents  herself  as  a  married 
lady;  this,  shrewd  commentators  have  said,  shows  how 
deeply  she  deplored  that  her  Art  (which  she  always 
spells  with  a  capital),  has  sundered  her  from  the  hap 
piness  of  domestic  'normalcy.'  Other  critics  have  said 
that  this  is  purely  cynical  on  her  part;  and  that  she 
knew  very  well  that  a  Broken  Heart  was  the  first  and 
most  essential  asset  of  a  female  poet. 


THE  PIPE  OF  PEACE 

T  II  THAT  is  the  magic 

T    T       Of  a  corncob  pipe? 
No  matter  how  peevish  or  irritable 
My  husband  may  be, 
—104— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 

THE  PIPE  OF  PEACE— (continued) 

When  he  is  smoking  his  Missouri  meerschaum 

He  will  do  anything1  I  ask. 

Couldn't  something  about  corncob  pipes 

Be  put  in 

The  marriage  ceremony? 


.       SHELF  DECEPTION 

ON  virtue  all  my  soul  is  bent, 
For  though  to  err  is  surely  human, 
Some  day  (quite  soon)   I  will  repent, 
Return  the  books  that  I've  been  lent, 
And  make  myself  an  honest  woman. 


—105— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


SAI  WEN 

Tkrough  no  fault  of  his  own,  Sai  Wen's  life  was 
marred  by  tragedy.  While  a  credulous  small  boy  he 
happened  to  read  a  history  of  the  United  States,  such 
as  is  used  in  American  schools.  This  had  carelessly 
been  left  lying  about  by  a  missionary.  One  chapter  of 
this  volume  was  called  "The  Gospel  of  Americanism/' 
and  it  inflamed  the  youth's  imagination  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  conceived  the  notion  that  the  United  States  was 
the  only  truly  happy,  virtuous,  comfortable  and  ideal 
istic  country  on  earth.  He  immediately  subscribed  to 
a  number  of  memory,  will-power  and  Chautauqua  read 
ing  courses,  and  made  haste  to  come  to  America.  Alas, 
his  disillusion  was  painful  and  prompt.  One  evening 
he  strayed  into  the  New  York  subway  at  the  rush  hour. 
The  next  day  he  returned  to  his  native  land,  asserting 
that  he  was  100  per  cent,  Chinese.  He  is  now  the 
leader  of  the  Damyurize  party  in  China,  which  hopes 
to  pass  legislation  excluding  all  Americans  from  that 
happy  country. 

IN  A  VISITORS'  BOOK 

MY  favorite  kind  of  scenery 
Is  brown  eyes; 
My  chosen  form  of  endeavor 
Is  peeling  the  froth 
From  the  top  of  the  tankard. 
—106— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


FRUSTRATION 

A  MAN  I  knew  by  sight 
And  also  by  hearing 
Said,  "I  have  a  good  story 
For  you." 

After  I  got  around  the  corner 
I  thought  what  I  should  have  said 
"That  is  not  a  story, 
It  is  an  heirloom.** 
I  hurried  after  him, 
But  he  was  gone. 


DENY  YOURSELF 

IF  you  haven't  any  ideas 
Don't  worry. 

You  can  get  along  without  them — 
Many  of  the  nicest  people  do. 


-107— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


REFLECTION 

WOMEN  use  shop  windows  to  look  through, 
Admiring  the  goods  displayed. 
Men  use  them  to  look  at, 
Finding  them  agreeable 
As  mirrors. 


THOUGHT  ON  CONVERSING  WITH  A 
PROMINENT  STATESMAN 

IT  is  all  right  for  a  man 
To  be  absent-minded, 
But  his  mind  shouldn't  overstay 
Its  leave  of  absence. 


QUERY 

WHO  can  alleviate 
The  joy  of  a  social  worker 
Alleviating 
The  sorrows  of  the  poor? 


—108— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


ACID  EJACULATION 

IT  is  always  those 
To  whom  you  are  kindest 
Who  anoint  your  heels 
With  banana  peel. 


—109— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


CHU  PEP-SIN 

This  hitherto  unknown  satirist  is  said  to  have  been 
a  prince  of  Tartar  blood.  He  came  to  the  United  States 
in  the  guise  of  a  Chinese  laundryman,  and  in  that  hum 
ble  capacity  became  a  shrewd  observer  of  certain  phases 
of  American  life.  After  some  years  in  Philadelphia  he 
returned  to  China.  Some  of  his  comments  on  America* 
civilization  are  regrettably  acid.  We  have  chosen  only 
the  milder  accents  of  his  muse  for  quotation  here. 


THE  POWER  HOUSE 

EVERY  day  I  go  past 
The  power  house  on  Ludlow  Street. 
I  look  in  the  open  windows 
And  see  the  great  dynamos  on  their  shelves. 
They  have  power  enough 
To  jazz  the  earth 
And  throw  the  planets  out  of  step, 
But  they  make  no  sound. 
-—110— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 

THE   POWER  HOUSE— (continued) 

I  saw  a  girl  with  shell  goggles 
Dusting  some  of  them,  unterrified 
By  her  proximity 
To  such  dangerous  engines. 
Look  out,  child,  look  out! 

Don't  get  too  near  the  Bernard  Shaw  circuit- 
breaker 
Or  the  Walt  Whitman  flywheel! 


ON  A  PAIR  OF  SPATS  LAID  AWAY  FOR  THE 
SUMMER 

LITTLE  spats, 
Down  among  the  summer  mothballs 
Do  you  hanker  for  the  time 
When  you  will  once  more 
Encase  her  bright  ankles 
As  they  glimmer  up  and  down 
Chestnut  street? 
Your  gain  will  be  our  loss, 
But  don't  be  dogs  in  the  manger, 
Little  spats! 

—Ill— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THIS  INCONSTANCY  IS  SUCH 

/CHESTNUT    STREET   is    dark    and   gloomy 

\^S    11:30  p.  m. 

But  from   an  upper  window 

Comes  the  insane  ecstasy  of  jazz. 

Cling-cling  of  little  bells, 

Rattle  of  drums, 

Tick-tock  of  the  gourds, 

Crash  of  cymbals, 

Wail  of  violins  on  the  placid  night. 

Life  is  tragic ; 

Life  is  damnable; 

But  I  do  a  little  scamper  of  my  own 

There  on  the  pavement. 


POVERTY 

POVERTY  is  always  pathetic ! 
I  passed  the  house  of  a  certain  poor  man 
And  looking  through  the  window  I  saw 
Persian  rugs,  crystal  chandeliers,  a  mahogany  talk 
ing  machine, 

Cut-glass   bonbon   dish,   pearl-inlaid   tables,   porce 
lain  bric-a-brac, 

Platinum  ash  trays,  silver  toothpick  vase,  morocco 
bound  telephone  directory, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 

POVERTY— (continued) 

Gold-plated  peanut  sheller,  electric  Pomeranian  dog- 
washer, 

And  not  a  single  book. 
Is  there  no  charitable  organization 
To  help  this  poor  pauper? 


MISDIRECTED  ZEAL 

WHEN  I  am  at  work  in  the  office 
A  kind  of  palsy  seizes  on  my  soul. 
I  feel  the  whole  weight  of  the  universe 
Crushing  down  on  my  defenseless  spirit; 
But  when  I  get  home  at  night 
And  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed, 
I  am  as  brisk  as  a  ticket  seller 
In  the  box  office  of  a  vaudeville  show. 
In  the  sheer  lustihood  of  my  exuberance 
I  rearrange  all  the  bottles  in  the  medicine  closet, 
And  with  the  zeal  of  Russell  Conwell 
Delivering  "Acres  of  Diamonds"  for  the  5000th 

time, 

I  have  been  known  to  pursue  a  cockroach 
From  one  end  of  the  apartment  to  the  other. 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


FRUSTRATION 

1HAVE  given  up  bathing. 
The  doctor  told  me  to  go  down  to  Atlan 
tic  City 

And  snuff  up  the  salt  water. 
He  said  it  would  be  good  for  hay  fever. 
But  every  time  I  wade  out  to  the  breakers 
And  dip  my  head  under  the  water 
A  life  guard  dashes  at  me 
And  drags  me  in. 

The  next  day  I  see  my  name  in  the  paper — 
"Saved  From  the  Surf," 
And  the  life  insurance  company 
Threatens  to  cancel  my  policy. 


ON  WATCHING  MY  STENOGRAPHER 

IF  only  the  mechanism  of  society 
Were  as  simple  as  a  typewriter, 
And  the  management  of  affairs 
Could  be  transposed 
From  Capital  to  Lower  Case 
By  pressing  a  shift  key! 
— 114— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


A  PLACID  DISPOSITION 

1CAN  always  keep  my  temper 
When  I'm  alone. 
It's  only  other  folks 
That  rile  me. 


A  DISCOVERY 

fTHIHE  worst  moment 

JL     In  my  life 

Is  when  I  am  cleaning  up  the  cellar 
And  find  my  magenta  tie, 
Three  frayed  soft  collars, 
And  the  dear  old  brown  pair  of  trousers 
In  the  trash-box 
Where  my  wife  put  them. 


—115— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


BREAKING  THE  RULES 

I  KNOW  a  merchant 
Who  is  an  offence  to  all  Rotarians, 
He  began  business  on  a  shoestring, 
And  yet  he  is  not  successful. 


—116— 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


O  B'  01 

Little  is  known  of  the  life  of  O  B'oi,  who  was  a  timid 
recluse,  much  persecuted  by  the  authorities  for  his  sa 
tirical  volume  entitled  The  Confusions  of  Confucius. 
It  is  said  that  at  one  time  he  was  a  colyumist  on  a  news 
paper  in  Shanghai,  but  was  dismissed  for  telling  his 
employer  that  20  taels  per  annum  was  but  a  niggardly 
wage.  He  was  the  Kant  of  China. 

THOUGHTS  OF  A  MIDDLE-AGED 
MANDARIN 

BREAKING  in  a  new  idea 
Is  like  breaking  in  a  new  pipe : 
Uncomfortable  work. 
I  like  the  old  familiar  thoughts, 
No  bite  or  parch. 

BUDDHIST  LULLABY 

MY  mind  is  an  apartment. 
When  it  is  all  dark, 
And  I  am  about  to  sleep, 
Who  is  that  walking 
On  the  floor  overhead? 

—117— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


THE  REELING  BRAIN 

MY  mind  is  a  movie  film. 
Who  the  camera  man  was, 
I  don't  know, 
But  he  certainly  shot 
Some  queer  pictures. 
I  always  fear 

That  some  day  the  film  will  snap 
And  the  audience 
Will  applaud  ironically. 


CONFUCIUS  CONFUSED 

I'VE  been  taking  dictation 
From  the  universe 
For  quite  a  while. 
I've  got  a  bunch  of  notes: 
Now  it's  time  to  transcribe  them. 
Queer — 
I  can't  seem 
To  make  sense  out  of  them. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


CAUTION 

MY  mind  needs  no  fire  escape. 
It  is  equipped  with  automatic  sprink 
lers. 

As  soon  as  an  idea  catches  fire 
They  put  it  out. 
I  am  heavily  insured  against 
Inflammatory  notions. 


STEAM  SHOVEL  NEEDED 

MY  mind  is  like  the  Panama  Canal. 
Great  ocean-going  ideas 
Lie  moored  in  the  locks 
Until  my  thought  rises  to  the  level 
Where  they  can  proceed. 
Every  now  and  then 

There  is  a  brainslide  in  the  Culebra  Cut 
And  all  traffic  is  halted. 


— 119— 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 


NEAP  PLUS  ULTRA 

MY  mind  is  like  the  ocean. 
My  friends  are  children  playing  on  the 

beach. 

They  bring  their  little  tin  buckets 
And  make  patterns  on  the  sand. 
Once  a  strong  swimmer  ventured  out 
As  far  as  the  breakers. 
He  turned  back. 
He  was  afraid  of  the  undertow. 


ANNOUNCEMENT 


MY  mind  is  closed  pending  repairs. 
After  alterations  are  completed, 
Will  reopen  in  these  premises 
With  a  large  line  of  plain  and  fancy  goods. 


FINIS   CORONAT   CORONAM 

-120— 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  PINE  OP  25  CENTS 

WILL.  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


. 

•  -       • 

MAf?  10  1943 

•  t    -i    -ICiU'4           '   L 

Mf\H  <t  *t  woo 

LD  21-100m-7,'40(693< 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


